


Telling Ghosts

by LoneMasque



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels), btd - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, Dubious Consent, Ghosts, Horror, Other, Possession, boyfriend to death - Freeform, btd, gender-neutral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoneMasque/pseuds/LoneMasque
Summary: Congratulations, you survived Boyfriend To Death 2!   But you're not done yet... and neither is he.





	1. Illusion

Strade twisted the knife one more time.

No response. Not even a twitch.

“Th... that'll learn ya,” he said.  Something was wrong with his voice.

He withdrew the knife from his captive's eye socket.  “Ssshhhiiit,” he hissed through his teeth.  He half-rolled, half-fell off the corpse onto the stained cement floor.

He put a hand to his neck and came away with blood.  “Oh... this is mine!” he said, grinning like it was a bad joke.  His hearty laugh became a rattling cough.

He tried to stand, then fell hard on his hands and knees.  A wave of realization hit him at the same time as the dizziness.  Suddenly his basement felt oppressive and cold.

Breathing hurt.  “R-ren,” he gasped.  Not loud enough.

He filled his lungs despite the pain and yelled, “REN! Ren, I need—get DOWN HERE!” before having another coughing fit.  Blood spattered out his mouth, another stain for the floor.

He was rewarded with the sound of puppy-like toenails clicking down the stairs.  An orange-haired youth with pointed fox ears stood in front of him, clutching his tail.  “Strade?” he asked quietly in disbelief.  “What happened?”

It was something of a moot point, judging by the gouged-out eyeball and dead body next to him.  Strade's latest target had gotten a hold of his knife and slashed his throat.  Strade had made sure they died for it, but at this rate, he'd be joining them soon.

Strade crawled forward, blood oozing between his fingers and down his arm.  “R-Ren...” he rasped, “help me up.”

He reached his other hand for Ren's clawed feet.  They stepped away.

Strade looked up, furious.  “What are you doing?!” he snarled.

Ren was staring down at him, his eyes reflecting green as animals' did in the night.  He looked scared, he always looked scared, but...

Strade felt something like lightning shoot down his spine.

So _that_ was fear.

He switched tactics and smiled.

“Ren,” he said as gently, warmly as he could, “there's a first aid kit up on that shelf.”  He pointed up over his sink.  It was easily within the young man's reach.  “ 's gonna be OK. Come on, now.”

Ren didn't even look at it.  He just kept staring at Strade.

Strade's smile faltered for a second.  “You... you're not gonna leave me like this?” he asked, unable to make it a command, still grinning as blood dripped between his teeth and down his chin.  “It's right there.  I'm... Ren, we need to hurry.”

“You said weak people die.  You always said that.” Ren's voice wasn't wavering at all.  He spoke clearly, sharply.

“This isn't about—-”

“We're predators and _weak people die!”_

Strade clenched his fist and slammed it into the ground.  “I am NOT WEAK!”

Ren released his tail.  It swished back and forth slowly behind him.  “Prove it.”

Strade took a shuddering breath.  He let go of his wound and forced himself up on his arms.  They were shaking. His heart was hammering in his ears.  His legs felt incredibly heavy.  He cursed in German, crawled with agonizing slowness over to the counter, dragging a smear of red with him, and reached for the sink.

He'd crushed windpipes with his bare hands before.  Twisted necks, broken arms and legs, destroyed whole human beings.  Now it was hard to hold on to the edge of the sink.  Everything looked far away.  Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision; it was like he was drowning.

“Not... like this,” he growled, his mind to overriding his body on pure willpower, fighting back to the surface.  His vision cleared as he hauled himself up.  It took everything he had, but he did it.

He did it too fast.

The rest of his blood rushed down, away from his brain, like a temporary blackout.  He reached for the kit in one desperate surge, missed, and his boots slipped on his victim's blood.  A final revenge.

Strade hit the cement hard on his back.  Something cracked.  He flailed uselessly, giving up curses, simply screaming his fury.

His screams.  They were... weak.

Ren came back into view.  “Ren, please, Ren,” he begged, gulping to keep the blood down.  “I can't... not like this!  Think of... everything I've... d-done for you!”

Ren folded his ears back and showed off his teeth.  Strade finally recognized the look behind his eyes.

It was hunger.

 

\---

 

**Two years later...**

 

The days had long ago blurred together since Ren 'rescued' you from the alley.  Well, he rescued you after he put you in danger in the first place with that drugged drink.

Why _did_ you take Lawrence's drink instead of your own?  That was weird.  Weird, and a huge mistake.

Now Ren was curled on the couch next to _you_ , his head on _your_ chest, his fingers stroking _your_ hair.  An outside observer might think you were cuddling your short, foxy boyfriend, if only a few details didn't shatter the illusion.

You were very tense, fighting the urge to flinch from his claws.  He'd see it as a slight, and then he'd get angry, and then much less gentle.  He was nibbling on cold chicken hearts like popcorn.  You never asked where he got those.

The heavy collar around your neck assured your obedience.  He'd started your training on day one, shocking you whenever he felt threatened, and mesopredators like foxes felt threatened _a lot._

Like cats that run around the house chasing phantoms, Ren saw danger in every shadow.  He would jump at the sound of a door closing too hard, if you sneezed, even when he heard dogs barking outside, which could be really funny but—-

“Seriously, what the hell is a beast-kin?” you asked.

“I already told you,” Ren replied.  You hoped he was only pretending to be annoyed.  You kept an eye on his tail to gauge his mood, just in case.

“Noooo you didn't,” you said.  “How have you not been discovered?  How many of you are there?  Are you a subspecies or were you human once?  And if you're super-powered, why weren't you kings and Pharaohs and emperors?”

“Ancient Egyptians really treated us right!” he said, brightening.  “Remember all those pictures of people with crocodile heads and stuff?”  He pointed at himself with his thumb and grinned a fangéd grin.

“Oh, yeah! That was you guys?” you said, glad to glean the slightest detail.  They kept you anchored.  Sane.

“Usually humans thought we were gods,” Ren explained.  “They'd give us money and power, but...”  He looked aside.  The tail that was wrapped around your leg slumped sadly.

“It didn't last?”

He focused his orange, slitted eyes back on you.  “They figured it out eventually.  We're not gods, we're just animals.”

“Humans are animals, too.”

“...It's not the same.”

You eyed his snack and went silent for a bit.  Ren had put on a movie, thankfully not one of the 'home movies' you'd found when you were bored.  You'd never been able to erase those images from your mind and had to beg him not to play them.

Ren compromised with a horror movie and you'd lucked out with an extremely bad one; Night Of The Land Of The Living Dead Guys Who Are Not Dead So Undead Actually Of The Corn I Guess.

Must've been a working title.

“Don't go in the basemeeeeeent,” the love interest cried with as little conviction as she could muster.

“I must!” the protagonist said, trying way too hard.

“But the monster's down there.”

“I, too, am a monster!” he replied.

“I love you. Let's have sex... _in the cornfield._ ”

He looked at her.  “...I guess.”

Ren groaned.  “This is the worst thing I've ever seen.”

You smiled and patted his head.  “I know. And it's the first in a series.”

“Really?” he asked.  “...We have to see the rest.”

“You spoil me,” you said, stroking his ears.  They were huge, and they gradated from orange at the base to black at the tips.  You really couldn't resist touching them.

“Mmmmmhmmhmmmm,” he said, turning his head for easier access.  His tail twitched; he was getting excited.

 _Whooooops._   Before you could stop, he was straddling you, nuzzling under your jawline, right beside the collar that held you prisoner.  “It comes a with a price,” he said, then kissed you on the lips.

You didn't turn away despite the taste.  His paws kneaded your chest.  He was blushing already.  You put your hands on his slim shoulders—-not to push him away, because you couldn't—-just... so you could pretend you had a little control.

That _fucking collar._

“How old are you?” you had to ask.

He sat up, impassive.  “I'm twenty-one,” he said, taking off his green shirt and laying it carefully on the back of the couch.  “We met at a bar, remember?”

That's right, it was a bar!  He must have been carded to be allowed in, right?  That's where he went to meet Lawrence when h _e was still—-_

_—-oh god, his face, I don't want to hurt him, please don't make me use the knife—-_

“Woah, woah, woah! Hey, now!”  Ren was on your lap.  The same Ren who kissed you, who enjoyed bad movies with you and made delicious dinners just the way you liked them.

Not the Ren who killed Lawrence.

There was ringing in your ears.  You shook your head, pushing the memory back inside its vault.  Maybe if you pretended hard enough, wanted it badly enough, you could make it so it never happened.

“Are you all right?” he asked, wiping the sweat off your brow.

 _'No,'_ you thought.

“Y-yeah,” you said.  “Twenty-one... Is that in human years, or—-”

“I'm not lying to you,” he growled.  A warning.

You shut up.  He looked confused for a moment, then laughed.  “Don't worry, I know what I'm doing,” he said, taking your hands and putting them on his waist.  He gave you a mischievous smile.  “I know what you like.”

You didn't fight when he put his tongue in your mouth, or put his hands under your shirt, trailing his claws along your skin.

If you searched his pockets now for the remote to your collar, he'd catch you and make you suffer.  He'd done it once before, and you weren't eager for another lesson.

He pressed himself against you, deepening the kiss, warm and enthusiastic.  Your body was responding predictably.

Maybe humans and beast-kin were the same after all.  This wouldn't be your first sexual experience with Ren, though he was being much nicer this time.  You let him lead you to your bedroom, his fingers interlaced with yours.

Like you ever had a choice.

\---

A few hours later, Ren had left you tired and sweaty in your bed while he went back to his.  He never slept around you.  He wasn't stupid.

You felt better than you wanted to admit.  He really _did_ know what you liked.  Ren had left little love bites all over you, pleasant bruises as a reminder that you'd copulated with someone you'd otherwise neeeeeeever consider, let alone dominate you the way he did.

You sighed.  The dissonance between your body, mind, and heart was exhausting.  You brushed some orange fox hairs off your bed.  You smelled like sex, like Ren, kind of like a wet dog only wilder...

...Wait... there was something else.  Something intrusive.  A sharp tang in the air.  It was familiar, but you couldn't place it.

You followed your nose outside your room.  What _was_ that?  Why was it suddenly so strong?

It was coming from the couch.  Did Ren leave his chicken hearts there?  No, but you were very close.  At this vicinity, it was almost overpowering.

The shirt.  The green one with the army stripes he wears all the time.  You picked it up—-oh boy, yep, that was the source.  It reeked of... what?  Oil?  Machine grease?

No.  Muskier.  This was human...

_This smelled nothing like Ren._

Something moved in the corner of your eye.  You jumped, then you cursed yourself for your own stupidity.  No one was there, it was just your reflection on the television, idiot.

Irritated by this sudden, bizarre paranoia, you tossed the shirt back where you found it and went to bed.  Those bad horror movies must be getting to you.

Don't go crazy. That was the last thing you needed.


	2. Sinking

When you opened your eyes, you were back in your dorm room.  Phew!  What a relief!  You couldn't place it, but you felt like you'd survived something horrible.

Maybe it was an exam?  Yeah, probably an exam.

You sighed, smiling.  _Ahhh._ Everything was OK now.

Then you realized you had no pants on.  Huh.  How did that happen?

You shuffled through your drawers, the closet, even under your bed, but there was not a single pant to be found.

Weird.  You were _pretty sure_ you brought pants with you to college.  Was this a prank?

You opened the door to the hallway to get help.  Surely the RA has seen worse than this—

You froze.  You were staring a widescreen TV.  Wait a minute...  There wasn't a television in the hallway!

You turned around.  It was your bedroom... in Ren's house.  Oh...

Your relief evaporated, replaced by an immense, crushing weight.  You reached up and felt the collar around your neck.

…... _oh_.

What were you doing out here?  Right, looking for pants.  Why didn't you have pants?

You looked back at the TV.  It was the sequel to Night Of The Land Of The Living Dead Guys Who Are Not Dead So Undead Actually Of The Corn I Guess, called Night Of The Land Of The Living Dead Guys Who Are Not Dead So Undead Actually Of The Corn I Guess _Again_.

The love interest died in the first movie, but—for reasons never explained—she was still alive in this one, and as apathetic as ever.

“We can't go back to the cornfield.  There are undead-dead monsters there.”

The protagonist, who had switched actors, said, “Guess _again_.”

“Noooooooooooooo,” she 'screamed' to the heavens in the rain.  Lightning flashed, but the thunder was a few seconds late.  You thought you saw a boom mic dip into the shot.

You heard laughter.  You didn't recognize the voice, but it sounded familiar.

You turned to the right.  A stranger was sitting on the couch, drinking a beer.  You snuck closer to get a better look.

He was a stocky Caucasian man with a five o'clock shadow and a scar on his left cheek.  He had scraggly brown hair, some of it dangling between his... were his eyes _orange?_

No way.  Besides, you noticed something much more important.

He was wearing that smelly green shirt.  It fit him perfectly.

He knew you were there, but didn't look directly at you.  “Having a good time?” he asked.  That accent... was it American Western or German?  Odd you couldn't tell.  And you'd swear you'd seen him somewhere before...

“Living in my house.  Drinking my beer.  Eating my food,” he went on.  He sounded a bit hoarse.

He faced you with a cruel grin.

“ _Fucking my fox._ ”

You took a step back and bumped into the television.  NOTLOTLDGWANDSUAOTCIG _A_ flashed and was replaced with static.  You thought you could hear faint screaming inside it.

You automatically bent to turn it off.  When you stood back up, the stranger was in front of you, somehow crossing the distance between you and the couch without a sound.

He hadn't looked too dangerous when he was sitting down.  Now you could tell he was mostly muscle.  His shoulders and forearms betrayed a strength that could really wreck your shit.

And his eyes were indeed orange.  Unreal.  Like Ren's, only more yellow.  The warm, inviting color of gold, or whiskey, or...

“ _Fire,”_ you thought, feeling cold.

“Where'd your pants go, buddy?” he chuckled.

You didn't have an answer for that. You pulled the hem of your shirt to cover up, suddenly self-conscious and vulnerable.  He was standing very close, looking at you like a piece of meat.

Wait... was he going to...?  Oh, _NO!_

“Not my first choice, but since you're here, lassen Sie uns etwas Spaß haben!” he said, reaching for you.

You didn't wait.  You punched him.

**WHAMMO!**

He staggered back.  He put a hand to his cheek where you'd hit him and gaped at you, more surprised than hurt.  “...What the fuck!?”

“Stay back!” you yelled.

He started towards you again.  You had nowhere to go.  “You... did you just—”

“Don't come ANY CLOSER!”

He grabbed you by the front of your shirt and yanked you face-to-face.  “YOU CAN SEE ME!?” he screamed.

You also screamed.

Then you woke up.

 

\---

 

Another day by yourself.

Ren would search for stuff you wanted on the internet sometimes with you in the room, but you weren't allowed to use it alone, and it was password-protected.  You felt cut off from the world and kept forgetting what day of the week it was.

Then again, maybe it didn't matter anymore.

How long do police search for a missing person before they give up?  Months, right?  Years?  You _knew_ people must be looking for you.  If only you could tell them you were alive.

You rubbed the sleep from you eyes and remembered how you'd felt when you dreamt you were back in college.

...And... not the rest of it.

Shake it off.  OK.  Another day.

Another chance to escape.

The kitchen didn't have anything capable of sawing through heavy metal.  You'd tried.  Ren found the scratches on your collar and shocked you for it.  You'd considered chipping away at the collar from the inside, but eventually the jagged metal would cut you, and then he'd find out.  Same result.

Can't get near the door, or the collar automatically kicks in.  The windows were too thick to break.  What about digging?  Through the walls?  The ground?  Maybe you could move your bed and make a tunnel in the wall behind it!

You tried moving your bed, doing your best not to think of how unlikely it was you could hide all the plaster without getting caught.

It was nailed down.  Of course.

You flopped dramatically on the mattress and threw a tantrum.  Once you'd fought the covers long enough to take the edge off your frustration—and turn you into a human burrito—you had an idea.

...There was one room of the house you hadn't been to yet.

\--

You stood in front of the door to the basement.  You only ever got this far.  Every single time the hero sees a door like this, the audience thinks, “Don't go in there!”

And then they go in there, and they unleash an unspeakable evil, or they die.  Maybe both.

Ren was so wealthy his entire house looked like it came out of an Ikea catalog.  For... like... fancy people.  Fancy Ikea.

_Where did he get the money?_

You never asked out loud because you weren't a moron.  And you never went to the basement because your brain played a thousand terrible, very probable things you would find down there.

Like power tools!

...Like Lawrence.

_Why did he kill Lawrence?  What did he do with the body?_

A shadow passed behind you.  You turned around, just in time to catch Ren mid-tackle.

“Oof!” you cried, landing on the polished wooden floor.

“Gotchya! I gotchya good!” he said proudly, his smug face taking up your whole vision.  “Man, you were really zoned out there!”

Ren was fond of hide-and-seek, probably because he always won.  “Well, my hearing isn't nearly as good as yours,” you said, touching the black tip of his right ear.  It twitched reflexively and Ren batted your hand.

“That tickles!” he laughed and sat up on your stomach, rubbing his ear with the back of his hand.

“What's got you in such a good mood?” you asked.

His smile made you nervous.  “My next project is coming along,” he said.  “What are you up to?”

Fortunately, you had a lie prepared.  “I was looking for the laser pointer.”

He grinned so wide you could see all of his teeth.  “LASER POINTER!?! OOOOH, OH, OH! I KNOW WHERE IT IS!”

That worked.  He scampered off of you and into the living room.  You groaned and prepared to get up, only to get immediately re-tackled.  “OOF! _Really!?_ ”

Ren was holding the laser pointer in his mouth, looking all the world like a huge, happy puppy.  “Hoo phuh phing!”

You translated this as 'do the thing.'  Chase The Dot was his favorite game.  You held out your hand for the laser pointer and he dutifully dropped it into your palm, covered in drool.

You made a face and turned it on.  His eyes dilated and he leapt off again, almost inadvertently tearing at you with his claws in his eagerness.

Finally able to stand up and breathe, you gave Ren a good workout.  It was amazing to watch how fast he could run and how far he could jump.  If it weren't for the understandable need to keep his abilities secret, and if he could train properly, Ren could easily keep up with Olympic athletes.

What a pity such raw talent couldn't make him famous and admired.  And how much worse a problem for you, should your collar run out of batteries and you tried to outrun him.  Perhaps you should ask for a treadmill.

Oh well, he really loved it.  Ren threw every ounce of energy into catching the rare and elusive red dot, even though he knew he never would.

You had some concern for how badly he was scratching up the new wooden floor, but then you remembered it wasn't your problem.

“I almost had it that time!” he said about an hour later.  You'd sat on the comfy chair ages ago (because you didn't want to sit on the couch) and the fluffy, happy beast-kin had come over to curl up on your lap.

He was sweaty, but you didn't complain.  You petted him absently, making sure not to touch the ears this time.  “Strade never played that game with me,” he yawned.

“Who's Strade?”

The name startled him. “Huh? What?”

“What?”

“What??”

“You... Who's Strade?” you repeated.

“Oh! Strade is... w-was...” Ren went from delighted to depressed in a few short words.  He looked down sadly and put his hand on the stripes of his green shirt.

 _That shirt!_   And its awful smell was creeping back too, mixing with Ren's.  Great.

“What do those stripes—”

Your eyes flicked involuntarily over his shoulder to the right.  The man from your nightmare was sitting on the couch.  He held a finger to his lips.

“SHIT!” You jumped with Ren still on your lap, kicking the floor with all your strength in your panic to get away.  It sent the chair flying over backwards.  You tumbled to the ground and Ren scrambled to his feet, running in terrified circles.

“YEEK!” Ren screamed, his every fluffy part poofed to maximum.  “Wh-what's going on?!  What happened!?  What's wrong?!”

You got on your knees and looked over the chair to peek at the couch.  Nothing.

But you were sure!  You _absolutely_ saw that guy!  What the hell...?

Ren joined you behind the chair, like it could protect you from anything.  He followed your gaze, then turned back at you.  His fearful expression asked the question for him.

You turned around and hugged your knees.  You shakily ran a hand through your hair.

“Ren,” you started quietly, “...you're... impossible.  Like vampires or werewolves, right?”

“Werewolves might exist!  I met a guy who smelled a lot like a wolf once.  Think he and his boyfriend were bikers.  He was a real dick, though, like you would not _believe_ ,” he replied.  “Sorry, rambling.  Go on.”

“Hmm.”  Better file that away for later.  “What else is out there?  Fairies?  Demons?”

“...Uh... I dunno...?”

“Ren,” you said in a low voice.  He had to know you were serious.  “Are ghosts real?”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment.  “Ghosts?”  In a flash, he went wide-eyed with horror, grabbing his own ears and pulling them down.  “OH GOD!  I HOPE not!  Th-there COULDN'T be!”

He turned back to look at the couch, pressing your bodies together and getting his tail in your face.  “Why?! Did you see something!?”

Argh, he was squishing you!  And that shirt smelled so bad!

“ _You're_ half animal!  You would know, right?!” you countered.  “Don't you have a sixth sense?!”

“NO!” he said, scowling.  “Stop it!  You're scaring me!”

“I'M scaring YOU!?” you yelled, standing up over him.  “Is that a fucking JOKE?!”

You didn't have time to brace yourself, and even if you did, it wouldn't have helped. Ren bared his teeth, took out the remote, and pressed the button.

It started with a white-hot burn where the collar touched your skin and sent lightning through every nerve. Your muscles seized, forcing your limbs painfully into your sides and you lost your ability to stand.

You spasmed on the ground, unable to see passed the pain, or even breathe. Your body thrashed, threatening to hurt itself, in an eternity squished into a few seconds. In those moments, when you could fire enough synapses to think, you really could kill him.

When Ren relented, you collapsed and gulped for air, grateful your own senses weren't on fire. You rolled your head to the side and looked at him, too tired to entertain revenge fantasies (this time).

Ren had lost all color. His hand was shaking with fear or fury or both. He was breathing so fast he was almost hyperventilating.

“Sit,” he ordered.

“Ren—”

“I said. SIT.”

You didn't have a choice.  If you didn't submit fast enough, he'd just make you 'earn' his forgiveness.

You slowly forced yourself up. Everything hurt and your muscles felt like jelly, but you managed. “...I had a nightmare,” you said evenly.

One of his ears lifted, just a little.  “What?”

“Last night.  I dreamt a man tried to... attack me.”  You couldn't believe it, but you were too embarrassed to elaborate.

You didn't have to.  Ren knew exactly what you meant.  His expression became sympathetic, and he lowered the remote halfway down.  “I... see,” he said.  “What did he look like?”

You had a slight feeling of foreboding, but then you wondered, what if you simply told the truth?  Ren would understand, right?  He'd try to help?

“He was—” you started, then you were hit by a deep, powerful urge to lie instead.  “I-it... it was Lawrence.”

What?  Where did that come from?  Why did you do that???

“Ohhhhhhhhh!” Ren said, relaxing at last.  He put a hand on his chest and exhaled a huge breath he'd been holding in.  “Jeez!  Almost gave me a heart attack!  It was just a bad dream.  There's no way that was him,” he said, putting the remote away.

His smile was condescending.  You didn't know why you lied, but somehow you also knew you couldn't come clean.

“Huh?  ...But... how do you know we're not haunted?” you asked a little too desperately.

Ren headed to the kitchen.  “Oh, we'd _definitely_ know by now.  Besides, Lawrence would never do that,” he said dismissively.  “He could barely carry a conversation!  And between you and me?  He was one of the weirdest guys I've ever met.  And _I've met weird._ ”  He was searching through various cupboards.  “Hey, what do you want to eat?”

You double-checked the couch.  It was just loafing there, being a couch, all by itself.  You got up and followed Ren.

You didn't answer him right away since you'd been _tased in the fucking neck_.  Besides, you weren't really hungry.  “How about pancakes for dinner?” he offered.

“.................That sounds delicious,” you replied eventually, hiding your real feelings like a champ.  “Do you need help?”

“Nah, I got it.”

You sat at the island counter to watch him sniff out the ingredients and mix them.  Your keeper was calmer now, but you'd learned that the wrong sentence, even the wrong inflection, would put you in danger all over again.

Forcing yourself to let your latest undeserved punishment slide, your mind started to wander.  _How did he make money?  What new project was he working on?  What did he mean by 'we'd definitely know by now' if there were ghosts?  What's in the basement?  Who was Strade?  How did he die?  Can I have a treadmill?_

So many mysteries.  You settled on the simplest question, if not the easiest, first. _Why did he kill Lawrence?_

You couldn't ask him directly.  If you wanted information, you had to go about it the exact right way.

You know, just sorta casually bring up murder.  “...If Lawrence was so weird... why did you... pick him?”

He looked at you as he finished buttering the pan.  “No reason,” he said pleasantly, turning the stove on.

Well, shit.  That was as far as you were getting with that one tonight.

You contemplated your next move carefully.  His tail was swishing slowly back and forth.  Either he was concentrating on pouring the pancake batter, or you were getting on his nerves again.

What if you caught him off-guard?  “Do you miss him?”

“Huh? Lawrence?” he asked mid-pancake-flip.

“No.”

“...Oh.”  He left it at that.  You waited patiently as he cooked four pancakes, put two on two plates, got the silverware—whoops, don't forget the syrup—and sat across from you.

He scooted your dinner towards you sulkily without meeting your eyes.  You sighed, cutting your losses as well as your food, and had a bite.

“I don't know how I feel,” said Ren.  You looked up.  Was he blushing?  Trying not to cry?  “He... Strade was... really messed up, but he cared about me.  I think.  In his own way.”

The many scars across his skin told a different story.

“That's why I liked watching those videos,” he said.  “It's kinda nice to hear his voice.”

There was a bite in that last comment, but you were busy putting the pieces together.  Strade was the man in those movies!  That's where you'd seen him before, why he was so familiar to you!

So your subconscious filled in the gaps and took you for a ride; first with a nightmare, then a... trick of the light or a shadow or something.  Thanks a lot, brain.

You blinked and came back to the present.  Ren was hugging that shirt closer to him.  “I still talk to him sometimes.  Isn't that stupid?”  He was smiling ruefully as his eyes welled up.

You put your fork down.  “Ren.”

The dam broke. “H-he died!  _I let him die!_   And then I—I turn around and _miss him!?_   And I _don't know why?!_ ”

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him.  His claws dug in a little as he sobbed into your shirt.  His tail wrapped around your leg.  You stroked his hair, his ears, his back, helping him ride it out.  He'd probably never talked about it before.

“There's no stupid way to mourn,” you said after a time.

He went silent at that.  Huh.

“...Maybe no more horror movies for a while, though?” you suggested.

He laughed and sniffed.  “Y-yeah, good idea.”  He was breathing evenly, still holding you.  “I'm glad you're here.”

Your eye twitched.  He didn't notice.

\--

Later, after pancakes and dessert (which was another pancake with extra whipped cream), you were on the couch again.  Ren was still wearing the green shirt, but whatever smell you thought it had no longer lingered.  You made a note to yourself to wash it at your first opportunity.

Oof, what a day.  What was it?  Emotional progress?  A long fight over nothing?  The first symptoms of your psyche crumbling as your imprisonment forced you ever closer to the endless abyss?  All of the above?

Obviously it had to be one of those.  The alternative was far worse.

Despite Ren's warm presence at your side, you felt alone.  You hoped that was a good sign.

 


	3. Deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has heavy 'This Is Not Romance' references. Hopefully the punchline was worth it ;)

You were running.  Something was hunting you.  A shadow... no, a monster with hooves.

You were running through the woods.  It was night.  Branches kept tearing your clothes, your hair, your skin.  You tripped over a root, then another.  Trees seemed to be reaching for you, blocking your path.  The air was cold enough to hurt when you inhaled too deeply.  Your breath came out in crystal clouds.

You stumbled into a clearing.  The woods gave way, reluctantly, to rubble.  The skeletons of destroyed buildings, all wire and concrete, stretched as far as you could see.  The moon lit your path, casting huge swathes of darkness.

You fell, landing on your hands and knees.  You scrambled to stand.  Thorns wrapped around your legs, pulling you back into the forest.  You turned around to kick them off, but they wound tighter, slicing into you like barbed wire.

The pain didn't make you scream, but what you saw next did.  The shadow had emerged to claim you.  What might have once been a man stood sinewy and tall, eyes and arms glowing an eerie blue, and long, elegant stag horns on its head.

It was dripping something dark from its stomach.  As it shuffled closer, you realized they were its own intestines.

“I can't see...” it moaned.  “I can't see it...”

That voice!  “Lawrence!?” you cried.

He towered over you, all dark fury and pain.  “I CAN'T SEE THE RIVER!”

“I'm sorry!  I couldn't stop him!” you pleaded, scratching at the ground.

He reached back, his arm fusing into a sharp point, aiming for your skull.  Suddenly, what looked like a metal tentacle hit him, knocking him down.  His arm barely missed your eye, giving you a gash across your nose and cheek.

Lawrence—what was left of him—got up howling on all fours, only to be struck by three more metal arms.  They lashed at him like whips, driving him back into the trees.

The golden-eyed man stepped between you two.  “Sorry, kumpel.  This one's mine!” he said cheerfully.  He was wearing a tight black outfit with wire mesh and a complicated steel backpack attached to his spine.  The tentacles appeared to be under his mental command.

“...What the fuck?” you understated.

Then it occurred to you to escape while the monsters fought each other.  You reached for the vines around your ankles, but they were so sharp and strong you just wrecked your hands.

Out of the corner of your eye, Lawrence was making another attempt to get a hold of you.  The other man, though much smaller, was keeping him at bay.

“Bad, Bambi!  Bad!” he said, renewing his attack.  Every lash of those arms cracked the air.  Lawrence couldn't get any closer.

After what seemed like forever, though it was probably only a few minutes, Lawrence literally gathered up his own guts and retreated.  The plants moved out of his way, then closed the path behind him.  Save the thorns still holding you down, it was as though he were never there.

Your would-be rescuer turned and ran a hand through his hair.  “These crazy people! Am I right?”

His expression was meant to be reassuring.  It wasn't working.

He walked casually towards you.  “Hey, how about a 'thank you'?”

You didn't answer.  You'd picked up a rock to cut the vines, but were making little to no progress.  “Come on, come on—!”

He came close enough to stand over you and just... watched.  “Does it hurt?” he panted, pointing to your ankles.

You threw your rock at him.  He easily dodged it.  “Woo! Nice try,” he said, then he put his boot on the vines and pressed the thorns deeper into your skin.

You clenched your jaw and turned your head away, managing not to cry out.

“Hmm.  Stubborn.”  He added more weight.

You couldn't hold it in this time.  “Hnng—! Stop it!”

He took out a large hunting knife.  You froze.  He tossed it in the air; it flashed in the moonlight as it spun, and he caught it by the handle without looking.

“Say 'please',” he said.

“Fuck you!” you replied on reflex.

He chuckled and stood on your leg.  You yelped and arched back, wriggling to try and make him lose balance.  He stared intensely while you squirmed like a rabbit caught in a wire trap.  His eyes were half-lidded and a deep blush was building on his face and neck.

Uh-oh.  “Fine!  FINE!  P-please stop!” you said, pulling on his leg.

“That's better,” he said, and stepped off at last.  Then he gave you a swift kick in the chest.

You fell on the concrete.  He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Two spiky robots appeared behind you.  They looked something like dogs with six spidery legs.  Each had two tentacles waving around on their backs.

You'd had enough.  “OK, what the HELL is going on?!” you demanded.  “Where are we!?  What are those?!  What are you wearing?!  Was that Lawrence!?  And what the hell is WONG with you?!”

“HA!  It's so good to have company!” he said.  “And a real talker, too.”

He knelt down and tipped your chin towards him with his knife.  “I'm gonna cut you lose, but don't do anything stupid, all right?”

Without waiting for an answer, he cut through the vines.  You felt immediate relief and hissed as you pulled your legs in.  You _might_ be able to run, but it would definitely hurt.

This guy was still too close for comfort.  He touched the wound across your nose.  “He gotchya good, huh buddy?”

You swatted his hand away despite the knife and robots.  “Let's start at the top,” you snarled.  “You're... you're Strade, right?”

He stood up and puffed out his chest.  “That's me!”

“And you're a ghost.”

“Or you're crazy.  Lucky you.”

You already knew, you just wanted to hear him say it.  Besides, now you could follow with, “I thought you'd be taller.”

His grin widened.  “I can make you shorter.”

You gulped and changed the subject.  You'd figured out you were dreaming somewhere around the thing with glowing antlers, but everything looked and felt so real...

“Where are we?”

Strade sat down on a nearby rock.  He patted one of the spider-dogs keeping a lens on you.  “No idea,” he admitted.  “It's like... I'm dreaming with you.  And him.”

He gestured to the forest.  You heard a sound in the wind that could have been crying.

“I kind of make the rules around here,” said Strade, “But only in this little patch.  Otherwise I go back to floating around making “oooooo” noises.”

“...You actually do that?”

“Eh, for a while.  Nowadays I jerk off while watching Ren fuck you.”  He demonstrated the motion with his hips.

Your stomach punched itself.  “Oh, go— _WHY!?_ ”

“There's nothing else I CAN do!” he said angrily.  “I can't leave the house, I can't move on...  I can do almost anything here _except_ bring people to me.  Hmm... I wonder how Lawrence did it?”

You didn't know, and if you did, you'd never tell him.

You looked at the desolation stretching all around you.  Once in a while the horizon would light up with violent red flashes, followed by a boom you'd feel rather than hear.  “...And you went with... a war zone and Doc Ock arms?”

“Always was a sci-fi fan!” he said with a wink.  “Damn, I miss movies,” he went on, enjoying the sound of his voice.  “And the internet.  And food!  I haven't had real conversation in YEARS!  Then nature-boy shows up and can't even talk?  I guess you could say it was...” he paused for effect, “... _torture!_ ”

He waited for you to laugh.  You didn't.

“I said...  I said, it was _torture!_ ” he tried again.  “...Do you get—”

“Where are the souls of your victims?” you interjected before it got worse (and pointedly didn't ask how many he had).

He shrugged.  “Not here.  That would have been way more fun!  They must have gone down the river.”

“What's the river?”

He looked aside.  “When I... _died_... I was standing in shallow water.  Couldn't see anything, just fog.  Everything was gray.  I wandered forever, but nothing changed.  I started...”

He trailed off, sullen.  Strange that someone who liked to talk so much would suddenly stop.  You thought about making a break for it, but with your legs damaged as they were, outrunning those robots was extremely unlikely.

Besides, where would you go?  Right back into Lawrence's arms?

It might be best to keep Strade entertained for now.  “How did you die?”

He grimaced and folded his arms.  “...I don't remember,” he said.  Was he lying?  “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

“Uh—”

He lifted his shirt.  You screamed again.

Strade's ribcage had been ripped open; first by claws, then a blade or a saw.  Possibly both.  You could clearly see his organs glistening, save one.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH!  WHAT HAPPENED!?  WHERE'S YOUR HEART?!"

“I know, right?” he laughed.  “Everything else is there!  My lungs, my esophagus, my intestines,” he said, reaching into his own chest cavity and touching each part as he talked.  “Liver, spleen stomach...  Huh, that's funny.  I thought I got my appendix removed!  That doctor lied to me!  What a hack!  I'm glad I killed him.

“Heheh.  Hehehehe.  _Hack_.”

The squishing noises were making you gag.  You felt dizzy.  You were gonna go gray at this rate, or outright insane.  “Please... put your shirt back down...”

“Wanna feel?”

“No.”

“You don't want to be inside me?” he asked with an eye-brow waggle.

“ _NO_.”

He smiled and complied, then flicked some of the blood off his hand.  “A guy could take that the wrong way, you know.”

Whatever that meant.  You swallowed hard.  “So there's no heaven, or hell, or... reincarnation?”

He brightened up.  “I saw an angel once!  He tried to drag me underwater!  So I punched him until he stopped moving.”

You glared at him.  “Bullshit.”

He blinked.  “What?”

You stood up painfully.  “Wait a minute...  If I'm dreaming... I can FLY!” you exclaimed, leaping into the air.

You landed spectacularly on your face.

“BAAAAHAHAhahahahaaaa!” Strade laughed, pointing and doubling over.  He laughed loudly and sincerely so hard and for so long that he collapsed.  “Hahahahaha!  Oh my god...  I can't...  I ca—hhhAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He was rolling around, kicking the air.  You stood up and dusted yourself off to reclaim what dignity you could.  You had a cold, sinking feeling.

So Strade did have much more control here than you did... which begged the question...

... _why haven't you woken up yet?_

Strade sat up and wiped the tears from his eyes.  “Haaaa...  You're the _best_.  Try... try again!”

“No.”

“Awwww, come oooooon!” he pleaded, getting to his feet.  The robots became more alert, fixing you with their spotlights.  “It's my own little world!  Maybe I'll let you fly.”  His tone was kind, but his sadistic smirk was back.

You thought quickly.  “I-it won't be as funny the second time!”

“That's a good point!” he conceded with a shrug.  “I guess we should finally get to business, then.”

You eyed the tentacles and calculated your chances.  Not good, but you were out of options.  “What's your plan?” you stalled for a second longer.  “Reenact bad anime porn?”

His eyes flashed with real fire.  “The term!  Is HENTAI!”

 


	4. Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words and patience. You really deserve a writer who can outline a story and then stick with said outline *without* creating a thousand plot holes ^-^;;; I'm going to do my best to get to the end and make it satisfying as a fic.
> 
> In the meantime, TW: rape. OK? OK.

One of the robots lashed at you, just as you expected.  You jumped out of the way and sprinted for the ruins.

Though you were wearing shoes this time (and pants, thank goodness), every step felt like your legs were getting stabbed.  _Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!_

You had to push passed it.  You'd seen Strade's snuff films; how much worse would it be in a mind-scape like this?

You dared a glance over your shoulder.  Strade and his spider-dogs were in hot pursuit.  Apparently not having a heart didn't slow him down.

You had to hide, wait him out.  You ramped up your speed, adrenaline giving you an agility boost as you weaved through rubble with greater precision than you ever thought you had. It would have been awesome if it didn't _hurt so damn much!_

You did have another advantage; Strade could only see where his dogs were pointing with their lights while your eyes adjusted naturally to the night.  You weaved through the shadows, zig-zagging to make it harder for them to track you.  You doubled back around a corner and their lights didn't follow.

“Aw, shit!” Strade cursed, though he sounded amused, even impressed.  Looks like you couldn't relax yet.

You put as much distance between you as you could, then you crawled behind the remains of a building that never existed.  You made yourself as small as possible and covered your mouth to stifle your breathing.

Rhythmic metallic clanking preceded a robot's approach.  It was close enough for you to hear its joints move as it scanned the area, casting a beam in the darkness.  You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it couldn't detect the heartbeat hammering in your ears.

'Wake up, wake up, wake up!' you told yourself.

After forever, the clanking receded.  You opened your eyes, still trapped in this nightmare, but not captured yet.  You allowed yourself to inhale deeply once before sneaking to the nearest wall.

You could see plenty of places to crawl under, but if you did that, Strade would block off your exit, right?  What if you went somewhere higher instead?  That way you could see them and have the chance to run if you needed to.

You looked at the wall above you and spotted thick cables sticking out of the cement.  You used them to hoist yourself up onto a small ledge.  One of the spider-dogs was clanking along below you, not bothering to look up. Maybe you could destroy it if you were fast enough.

A flash in the corner of your eye caught your attention.  Strade and the other robot were looking at something on the ground where you just were...  _The bloody footprints you'd left be hind!_

“Darn! Now isn't that a shame?” Strade asked loud enough for you to hear.

You grit your teeth and found a brick.  You couldn't take on Strade and a robot, so you'd have to even the odds.  You readied yourself, muscles tensing like a cat's, willing it just a few inches nearer.

It turned its head and you took your shot.  You leapt with all your might and—

—a metal arm wrapped around your waist and brought you down.  “AHH!” you yelled on impact, dropping the brick.  You pulled and clawed at the arm.  The robot retaliated by increasing the pressure.  “Hrrf!”

The robot dragged you closer as Strade strode back into view.  “Phew! That was fun! We'll have to do this again,” he said, his boots crunching the gravel beneath him.  “You ever watch Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“W-what?!”

“You know, the thing with the knife-hand guy? Bad special effects?” he said.  “I never was a fan, but now that I'm on the other side, I can appreciate it a LOT more!”

“Wh... what are you going to do?” you asked.

His smile alone nearly killed you.  “ _Everything_ ,” he promised.

The spider-dog kept its beam on you.  Its tentacle around your stomach retracted, then—

_**SHUNK! SHUNK!** _

It took a second to understand what just happened.  You couldn't move your arms.  You looked up and saw the tentacles had stabbed right through your wrists.

Once your brain processed it, the pain hit in full force.  You started screaming, shaking your head back and forth as hot tears flowed down your cheeks.

In the next instant Strade was on top of you, holding you still by pulling your hair back, licking the tears off your face.  “Mmmmm, that's good,” he whispered.

“AAAAHHHH! LET ME GO! _LET ME GO!_ ”

He ignored your cries and focused on the gash Lawrence gave you.  He reopened it by worrying it with his tongue and lapped up your blood.  It stung very badly and you couldn't move to ease the pain.  “So _warm_ ,” he moaned over your lips.

His full weight was on your body, shuddering and panting with delight.  When you moved, you felt the emptiness in his chest, reminding you he was a corpse.

He pressed hard on your crotch with his leg.  You tried to turn your hips away.  “N-no, don't—please, not that—!”

Strade sat up, grinning.  His teeth were red in the bright light.  His skin was flushed and his eyes were shining with lust and hunger.

He took out his knife and wiggled it playfully.  “Open wiiiiiiide!”

Instinctively you clamped your legs closed, forgetting his knee was there. He slowly stroked a hand along your thigh.  “Come ooooooon,” he said.  “This is our first time! We should make it special.”

“Noooooooooooooooo,” you sobbed, wishing you'd just bleed out already.

“No?  Are you sure?  Well, seeing as you can't die, we could really push your limits,” he said, tapping his lip with the knife as he thought.  “Drill holes in your teeth, make you eat your own eyeballs, tear your skin off... Hey, did you ever see the movie Hellraiser?”

You spread your legs.

“There you go!” he said, stripping you with his knife.  He nicked your skin as he carelessly tore your clothes to pieces.

And he kept talking.  “Did you know horror movies are really all about losing innocence?  I mean, think about it; the main character is usually a virgin girl, right?  And who always dies? People who have—”

“Do you ever SHUT UP?!” you yelled.

“No.  Anyway, she runs around, screaming the whole time, learning the tools to survive, see, because sex as a concept is supposed to be terrifying.”  By then he'd finished lacerating your underwear and tossed them aside.  He reached out to touch your chest.  “It's all symbolic of...”

His hand was heavy and cold.  “Wh...?” he said.  He dropped his weapon and put both hands on your exposed flesh, giving you goosebumps.

His amorous expression changed to determination.  He buried his face in your neck, forcing himself as close to you as he could.  You flinched; he was absolutely freezing!

“C-cold?” you managed.

Strade shook his head and put his arms around you.  He squeezed desperately.  Jeez, you knew he was strong, but you'd had no idea _how_ strong!  Something was going to pop!  You squeaked, worried he'd break you, but he didn't let go.

He started rubbing against you.  You did your best to block it out, focus on breathing through the pressure on your ribcage.  His teeth were at your throat, biting savagely over and over again.  Soon you were bleeding and he kept using his tongue to drink it, leaving icy trails on your skin.

You were dead, right?  You couldn't survive this.  Were you in hell?  How did you even _kind of_ deserve such punishment?

He drew back and pulled his pants down.  You looked and wished you hadn't; he was lubricating himself with your blood.

You threw your head back.  You told yourself to relax, to make one thing just a little easier, but your body wouldn't have it.  He hoisted your left leg over his shoulder and every muscle you had tensed.  He pressed his cold dick against your entrance.  You bit your lip.

Nothing happened.

He waited until you took a peek.  Once you made eye contact, he thrust.

“AH, FUCK!” you yelped.  He went in all the way, a huge contrast to Ren.  It felt like you'd be ripped open.

He laughed and started pumping with real enthusiasm.  On the one hand, he was too impatient to savor you, but on the other hand, he really went at it at maximum speed and force.

'It's not real, it's not real, it's not real,' you thought with failing conviction.  You felt everything with a sickening clarity, especially his organs squishing around under his shirt.

Every time he moved, your combined weight pulled on the spikes through your wrists.  You wondered if they'd go through your hands.  Strade liked smearing your blood across your arms and drawing patterns with his fingers.

He started to speed up.  He wasn't talking, but he was making a lot of noise, mostly grunts and snarls.  He dug his nails into your chest, seeming to become more frustrated as he approached his climax.  He glared at you and kept his teeth clenched as he pounded--unbelievably--even harder.

Oof, why was he this damn strong?  Was your pelvis going to break?!

Things around you became fuzzy.  Literally.  You thought at first you couldn't focus, then realized the world he'd created was pulsating in time with him.  You still couldn't move, but the blinding agony in your wrists was downgraded from unbearable to excruciating. Things were much darker now and it felt like your were floating or sinking or both.

Strade sat up and gripped your hips, lifting them off the ground.  The look in his amber eyes was completely wild now.  For a moment, it was all you could see.

He said something, you had no idea what, as he pulled himself into you one last time, filling you with--

 

You sat up in your bed.

 


End file.
